


Charred feathers

by Kirjava3456airbender



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angels, Lovino's mouth, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Torn wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirjava3456airbender/pseuds/Kirjava3456airbender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Matthew (or rather Maïledal) an angel, gets raped, the others believe him to have sinned. They tear out his wings and send him to earth where he meets Gilbert, a boy who founds no reason to believe in a god. (Angel AU-Prucan, Characters may be ooc)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Hetalia story, enjoy!

His name had been Maïledal, a conjunction of sounds like rivers and storms.  
Then again, he had also been an angel once.  
He could still feel the frigid air that had beat against his face as he fell.  
If he closed his eyes he could remember the taste of his screams on his lips.

[Vile creature, you have no right to face our god.]

He crushed the tiny feather between nimble fingers, the weight of his wings like a ghost on his shoulder blades.  
The feather turned black as it burned.  
Matthew screamed.

[You are worse than a demon and you must leave, for you have sinned.]  
[You have no place in heaven.]

And then, there had been red.  
Red and silver and concern, a friendly hand, outstretched towards him.  
“Are you okay?”  
The fallen one had wanted to speak, instead, he sobbed.

[You are no more, an angel.]

“Hey, it’s okay, it’ll be okay.”  
A quirky smile, and then, he noticed the blood.  
“Whoa man! What happened to you?

[No longer a holy creature.]

The beautiful being had slumped to the floor, in a heap of charred skin, broken bones and pain.  
And wails.

[No more than mere filth.]

“God, I have to call an ambulance…!  
The boy had panicked as the cursed creature at his feet kept screaming.

[Scum, cursed, alone wherever you go.]

Matthew wiped a tear.  
“And now you left me alone, you idiot.”

[A fallen angel.]

He dropped the ashes to the floor.


	2. A verdict to an unknown crime.

White.  
They call it heaven, they call it Paradise, liars, nothing but liars.  
There is only white up there.  
White and gold and hypocrites.  
We, humans, are stupid; we speak of them as saviors.  
Angels.  
They judge with one hand, repulsed by sin, while they slaughter and feast with the other.  
They are the servers of Him, a god that no living creature has seen.  
We draw and write about them, painting their so called “heaven” as a realm made of clouds and full of light, a harp chorus playing all day long.  
However, it is all made of marble and while the place is full of a tainted light, their hands are not those of a musician but those of warriors, used to holding swords in the name of a nonexistent purity.  
And then there are those like Maïledal, who in the times of this tale (which is as true as any other) was barely old enough not to be called a child.  
He still believed in purity and sin, calm and storm, a world that was black and white, blind to the hypocrisy of his kin.  
Even with hair like dark waves of honey that reached his shoulders and eyes a deep, impossible purple, he was easily overlooked and nearly invisible.  
If there was one thing he was noticed by was his voice, as harmonious as the harps we invented the angels to have would have been.  
However, at the beginning of our story, those godly vocal chords were used to yell as big fat tears rolled down his cheeks.  
“Please! I swear I didn’t! I swear to God!” His tirade was interrupted bejeweled hand hitting his cheek in a particularly harsh slap.  
“Be silent, offender. Your faith has already been decided no word that comes out of your filthy mouth can change it.” A nameless Seraph and Maïledal were surrounded by a circle of angels, thrones and virtues, the latter on his knees and hands before the powerful creature.  
As he spoke, two powers came out of the circle, holding in black hands what they called “divine” fire, fire of hopelessness, burning all and everything except the powers themselves, eternal fire of shadows.  
And they pulled.  
And slashed.  
And snapped.  
And as they separated Maïledal from his feathered wings, blood gushed from the wounds inflicted by the shattering bones, the air smelt of melting skin.  
And the young angel screamed with inhuman screeches.  
And the seraph spoke.

“Vile creature, you have no right to face our god.  
You are worse than a demon and you must leave, for you have sinned.  
You have no place in heaven.  
You are no more, an angel.  
No longer a holy creature.  
No more than mere filth.  
Scum, cursed, alone wherever you go.  
A fallen angel.”

And when he was as wingless as a mere human, they opened heavy gold doors and threw him out of heaven.  
And he fell.


	3. The landing, the panic

He fell  
Oh, how he fell.  
He fell for an eternity, or maybe, just a moment.  
He fell through blinding light and shadows so dark it felt like dying.  
And all the while, he burnt, flames licking his insides and skin, blossoming from his back.  
The wingless one drowned in his own screams, choking with nightmares.  
He felt the lingering touches on his once creamy skin and he heard the lascivious murmurs everywhere.  
Whispers by his ears, screams in his mind and grunts of pleasure filling the air.  
“You are mine. Mine, mine, mine. Mine forever.”  
And suddenly, there was blue.  
Green and grey and smoke under him like he had seen none before.  
He wanted to admire this unknown realm but for once he was falling too fast, too fast and too hard.  
Finally, after what felt both like an eternity and a moment, he landed.  
(Or, I rather say, crashed)

-Page Break-

Gilbert remembered it as well as he would had it been yesterday.  
He remembered running until he was out of breath and them some more, trying to escape his own home.  
He had kneeled on the soft grass of a nondescript park, panting and gasping for breath.  
He remembered ignoring the buzzing of his old battered phone , not in the mood to hear one of his friend’s drunken rants about tomatoes, his, oh so dear, “Lovinito” or “Amor, Gilly!”.  
And then he had heard the crashing.  
He felt the vibrations of the floor on his palms.  
He saw a person fall through layers of tree branches.  
With a start he got up (admittedly, with some difficulty) and ran as best as he could towards the site.  
There, he saw the most beautiful man he had ever seen.  
And the most anguished eyes he had crossed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short, I know, just felt like ending it there *shrugs*  
> Hope you enjoyed it anyway :D  
> Tamo ;)


	4. The studying of the eye

Red.  
His mouth screamed on its own accord, sobs tearing his throat as he stared at the red eyes of the man.  
He drowned in blood and fire, the eyes swallowed and it burnt.  
He remembered a time when red was the red of flowers (“coquelicots”* his mentor had said), fleeting beauty, heartbreaking delicateness.  
Still, red meant to him death and screams and the taste of copper and emptiness in his mouth.  
How can a mortal have such tainted eyes?  
He had already seen them, they were the eyes of a pagan god of faded chaos.  
He woke up before noticing he had fallen asleep, he woke up to hushed voices and a world of fake whiteness, not unlike his.  
“We’ll let him go in a few hours, he must be careful with the stitches, though.” He heard voices and a nagging thought told him to be alert.  
Still, he closed his eyes, spiraling into a realm made out of filthy moans and breaking wings.  
And red, so much red.  
-Page Break-  
Gilbert remembered strongly gazing at the beautiful man as the latter slept, wondering what horrors had occurred for such tortured wails to be born.  
He had cringed, remembering the doctors’ words of a painful life of circus and exclusion, and then of burning extra limbs and everlasting memories of a cage.  
“You’re not a freak.” He had mumbled, caressing skin like sand and velvet “You’re like an angel.”  
How ironic, that he had pierced the mystery so early on unknowingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it’s so short, life’s been hectic and it’ll be for a while.  
>  I know it’s kinda depressing, that’s my mood after a breakup on Valentine’s fucking day… Anyways, I’ll stop my rambling, hope you enjoyed and don’t forget to review.  
> *Coquelicots : Poppies in French.   
> On another note, I do speak French and Spanish; if you have a story with the BTT Trio on it and want to translate some sentences into these languages don’t hesitate to ask.  
> Tamo ;)


End file.
